


Dark Thoughts, Dark Acts - One Shot

by JosefAik



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Inspired by Game of Thrones, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosefAik/pseuds/JosefAik
Summary: Westeros is a place filled with dark acts and dark characters, a lot of whom meet the fate that they rightfully deserve. In this one-shot, i was challenged with bringing one of these characters back from the dead, to see how they would interact and react to the world post-themselves. For the purpose of this I chose to bring back Ramsay Bolton, who I think was washed down a fair bit later in the show, and used this as a chance to really let loose the savagery of Ramsay in the books. A further warning here. This gets quite dark, and may upset some people reading it. That being said, this is the world of Westeros, where darkness and upsetting themes are a given.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Sansa Stark
Kudos: 10





	Dark Thoughts, Dark Acts - One Shot

The darkness wrapped around Sansa Stark like a cloth around a screaming baby. Except, unlike the baby, this silence was deathly quiet. It was as if she had been buried alive, confined beneath the earth and left to rot and decompose. The air was damp and moist, humid even, though when she went to breath she was surprised that there was any air here at all. It felt like it should be empty, devoid of anything except herself and the cloak of darkness. 

The throbbing pain in her head wasn’t the worst thing she had felt, but it refused to leave her, and, at the back of her mind, she desperately tried to remember when it had started. She couldn’t. All she could do was remember her name. She tried to say it. She tried to say that she was Sansa Stark of Winterfell. She tried to say that she was the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully. She tried to name off her brothers and sisters. There was Jon, and Robb, and Arya, and Bran and little Rickon. She tried, but no words came out of her mouth. The silence wouldn’t be broken. 

She tried to move next, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t lying down, because she felt the weight that her legs were under. They were tired and strained. She was standing. Her arms were splayed over her head, and when she tried to move them she felt the rope around her wrists dig into her skin. She could feel a bead of blood running down her right arm. She heard it fall to the floor with a tiny drip. That was the only sound that breached the darkness. 

When she tried to sit down she felt the ropes tighten again, and when she tried to move her feet she found similar ropes wrapped around her ankles. They seemed to tighten the moment that she realised they were there, and now she couldn’t forget. She was tied up, like a pig destined for the slaughter. 

The darkness pressed against her body. There were no clothes to protect her from its grasp. She had been wearing them before. Where had they gone now? At least this gave her reason to be thankful for the humidity, as there was no biting wind to cut into her bare flesh. 

Then she felt something. Her body twitched slightly, and she realised that she wasn’t alone in the darkness. Someone was out there, watching her wrestle against the ropes holding her in place. Someone, or maybe something. She tried to call for help, but the words still wouldn’t come, and instead the darkness just seemed to press closer in, the silence mocking her soundless pleas for aid. 

Then, against all her hopes and dreams, she saw a flicker of something in the darkness. Was that movement? Was it Jon, here to save her, or brave Ser Davos, who could talk himself out of any dire situation, or maybe even adventurous little Lyanna Mormont, the she-bear of the North. First came the movement, and then came the torch, a brazier lit and held aloft by her unknown saviour. 

The light of the flame heart her eyes, which had grown so accustomed to the darkness that held sway here. The flames beat the darkness away from her, off of her body, and gave her light, though not enough to see where she was. She tried to look for her saviour, but they passed behind her. She heard the sound of the torch being placed in the wall, and then the feel of two slender fingers running up her right arm, where the blood had been drawn. It sent tingles through her body, and goose bumps rose upon her arms and legs. 

She heard the sound of a tongue licking the fingers, which had no doubt been covered in her blood. She heard the stranger savour the taste, and she tried to call for him, for she was sure now that this was a man, to stop, but there was still nothing, and then he moved in front of her, his face lit by the light of the torch. 

She recognised the shallow cheekbones and the thin lips. She recognised the snakelike face and the hatred and anger behind those eyes. There was no blood upon his face, and no bite marks upon his body. This was Ramsay Bolton, and he was reborn from the dead. 

She went to scream, but still no sound came. He laughed, nothing more than a smirk and a chuckle, but she knew what it meant. She tried to wriggle free of her bindings, but they held firm, and dug further into her skin. When he took a step closer she tried to move away. She could not, and soon she found his horrifying face a few inches away from hers. 

“Hello, Sansa. I have been waiting for you to wake up. Its been three days. I was worried for you. Do you know what today is, dear Sansa? Today is your name day. And that… Means presents.” 

Her breaths were stunted and shallow. Only now did she realise that there was a rope tied around her neck. It was looser than the others, so she could move her head, but the fact that it was there made her even more scared than she was. 

Ramsay moved his fingers across her cheek and down her jawline. He forcefully prized open her mouth, and smiled when he looked inside. She didn’t resist him. She knew what would happen if she did. He looked back into her eyes, and she knew she could close her mouth now. She could hear his breaths. They were low and excited. 

“You always did talk too much. I prefer you without your tongue.” 

Those words sent shivers of fear down her body. Was that why she had been unable to call for help? He had removed her tongue. She would never speak again, locked down here in this darkness with the man who mutilated her as her only company. There were no words to describe it, and even if there were, she would never be able to speak them. 

“When I died, Sansa, when you killed me, I saw darkness. Nothing but darkness, extending out from me and forever. That was my eternity. There was no heaven, and no hell. Just nothing. The gods gave me a second chance on this planet, a second chance to do what my father never could, a second chance for my name and my house and for me. I have taken that chance, and now I will show you how. You see, my love, I am a changed man. I no longer lust after power and pain and acceptance. No, I lust after one thing. Revenge.” 

She watched her husband disappear into the darkness, so that he was lost from sight. She could still hear him though. She could hear him moving out there, and talking back to her. 

“I thought we were happy together, Sansa. I thought you loved me and adored me. Then you killed me. You and your twice cursed brother and his followers. Jon Snow, the King in the North, the White Wolf, they called him.” 

Ramsay came back into view. He was carrying something. It looked like a stick. On the end of the stick hung a cloth. Ramsay planted it into the ground with little effort, and the stick stood straight. 

“What do they call him now?” 

Ramsay pulled away the cloth with a rehearsed flourish, and released the horrors underneath. It was her brother’s head. The hair had been removed and stuffed into his mouth. They eyes were empty and the flesh was peeling away in places. 

“I had to remove his head to see if he could be brought back from beyond the grave now. He wasn’t. Doesn’t he look pretty, Sansa? He’s just the first of your presents though. Do you want the others?” 

She shook her head vigorously, but Ramsay just smiled and disappeared into the darkness. She felt the wet tears of despair running down her face as she looked into the empty eyes of her dead brother. 

Her husband came back with the heads of others. There was the red-headed wildling that followed Jon, and the plain faced Podrick Payne. Then came little Lyanna Mormont, who's cheeks had been defaced by Ramsay’s flaying knife, brave Ser Davos, and sickly Robert Arryn, who was even paler in death than he had been in life. 

By the time Ramsay was stood in front of her and all the heads were placed she had shed all her tears, and was instead stood there, defeated and alone. Revenge. That had been what Ramsay had called it. Was this revenge enough? 

“I’m glad you like your presents, my dear Sansa. I knew you would. I had each and every one of them in this position that you’re in right now. I left them their tongues though. They begged me not to go through with it. Do you see how well that worked?” 

The same thin smirk passed over Ramsay’s lips as he asked her that question. She bowed her head, so that he could not see the pain in her eyes, or the raw redness of her cheeks. She did not want him to have that pleasure. 

“I bet you’re thinking that soon it will be your pretty head hidden away down here, Lady Bolton, but I can assure you one thing.” 

Ramsay forced her head up, so that her eyes met his. There was a demented madness in them now. He could barely conceal the joy that he was having. His lips parted and revealed his toothy smile, and his tongue flicked against his lips to wet his lips. 

“You’re wrong.”


End file.
